Of Shackles and Ashes
by BraveLittlePauper
Summary: Cinderella AU starring the Sensational Six! Donald has always dreamed of leaving the humdrum life of his uncle's mansion, but when an incident involving his temper puts him under house arrest, all seems lost. There may still be a glimmer of hope, however, when the Queen announces a masquerade ball, and the duck stuck with all the bad luck receives aid from some unlikely friends.
1. Preview

( **Author's note:** Hello and welcome to my latest project. For those who don't know, this is a Cinderella alternate universe, now titled "Of Shackles and Ashes", starring Disney characters. What you see here is a preview for the story. This may or may not be in the finished result but it can at least give you an insight of how this will go. I will try to update as soon as I can. Hope you enjoy!)

"Something the matter, my Queen? You look bored."

 _"Really? I wonder why."_ Daisy groaned as she slouched in her throne, her palm pressing against her cheek. Minnie, her lady-in-waiting, stood firmly by her side, though she began to fidget for reasons she hasn't explained yet.

There was no doubt that the Royal Masquerade was anything but terrible. The brilliant ballroom was packed with thousands of disguised guests rejoicing in conversations, feasts, and the lively tune of the orchestra. Everything seemed to be going as smoothly as anyone would expect it to be. The one commotion being that of an entrance of a metal carriage or whatever minor thing it was. But Daisy's problem wasn't the ball itself.

No, it stood in front of her, making his presence known. And not at all getting the memo.

"Perhaps I, your Majesty, can lift your spirits with a dance?" smiled the suitor, a duck with golden curls of hair and a green suit to match his Glover leaf mask to perfection. He bowed as he stretched out his hand, awaiting hers in return. Daisy didn't move.

"That won't be necessary, thank you," She answered bluntly. So much more could've been added to that, but then again, they were in public. There must be some dignity in giving rejections for she is royalty after all. The suitor simply cleared his throat and got up, dusting off his sleeves. No look of defeat or disappointment was present on his face, only his smile and pompous demeanor. Such charm...

"Very well, if you insist. But when you change your mind, I won't be very far" He gave another bow before finally leaving her sight.

As soon as he left, Daisy and Minnie watched as he headed for a crowd of what appeared to be the entire eligible male population hogging up the space in the ballroom. They were currently belittling each other's offerings of the traditional flowers, candy, and jewelry meant for the Queen. As for the Queen herself, she let out a droning sigh for Minnie to hear.

"I don't remember ever mentioning that I wanted a husband in the invites," she remarked, "And yet they come flocking here anyway."

Minnie, having predicted the outcome with the suitor, leaned in towards her with a nervous smile. "Um, about that, Daisy. If you're really feeling down, don't you think maybe sharing a dance with one of them can cheer you up?" This earned a blank stare, "I mean, of course, some of them are a little... _self-absorbed._ But who knows? It might actually be worth it."

After a brief pause, Daisy chuckled, "Well, I will admit, I am pretty gorgeous." She sat more upright while smoothing down her lavender gown and fixing her crooked lace mask, unaware of Minnie's soft giggling. She stopped when Daisy suddenly snapped, "But that's beside the point! Look at those gold diggers! The gifts I'll accept, but I bet you they don't know a single thing about me besides my title and they never will." She crossed her arms and turned her head away. Minnie, however, wasn't having any of that nonsense. While the guards behind them slowly took one step away to avoid any involvement, the mouse faced her ruler with hands on her hips and eyes on the verge of tears.

"Maybe they would get to know you better if you simply gave them a chance, your stubbornness," she nagged, catching Daisy off-guard and causing a bit of a scene, "Please, I'm not saying this because I want a king, I'm saying this because I know it'll make you happy. Something is eating you up inside and it won't go away if you keep ignoring it. It's not going to kill you to at least try. Now, pardon me. I'm going to have this little thing called 'fun'. Maybe you should try it. This was _your_ idea after all."

Without a moment of hesitation, Minnie stormed away, leaving Daisy with a hanging beak. She could've stayed that way for hours had it not been for the increasing number of people staring at her in confusion. Once she snapped out of it, she shut her beak and forced a smile like nothing ever happened.

When the guests finally went about their own business, Daisy dropped the facade and slouched again. 'What now?' she wondered. She glanced around the place, but was unable to find her friend through the sea of masks. She noticed a faraway balcony. A pretty view of the night won't hurt, but getting trampled by unwanted suitors the second she leaves her seat certainly will. Trapped in her prison of a throne, all there was left to do now was ponder over Minnie's words.

It was then that her heart sunk to her stomach. The music muffled and the lights blurred. Daisy was now alone in her mind. As rude as Minnie was just a while ago, it pained her to admit that she had a point.

For years, Daisy never had trouble getting all that she desired, and that included boys. 'What a brat I was,' she thought. Even now, she could easily play those men like dolls without a care if she wanted to. Just a flutter of her eyelashes and they'd bounce to her on the spot. But she's not a little princess anymore. Responsibilities as the Queen have weighed in on her shoulders. One wrong move and that'll cost the safety of the kingdom, and as if the subjects don't take her any less seriously as it is. Not to mention the loneliness that's been creeping up on her lately...

Daisy took a deep breath. Though it burned her lungs, it felt good nonetheless. Was one night of leisure too much to ask? One night for her and her people to relax and have fun for once? "Maybe this whole arrangement was a bad idea," she choked as she rubbed her temples. If only she can go out for some fresh air-

"When I'm crowned, I'll make sure to banish you!"

Daisy's heart leapt back into place. Awakened from her thoughts, she along with everyone else turned to find the source of the shouting. Within the crowd of suitors, a bachelor's bouquet of daises (" _How creative_ ") laid crumbled under another's foot. "When _you're_ crowned? Oh please, ya hardly worthy for a jester!" sneered the lanky rat crushing the flowers. The two continued to argue when the green-themed suitor calmly approached them.

"Gentlemen, while you were busy fussing, I've had the luck to speak with the Queen. So, it's clear I'll be the one victorious," he said and began to walk away.

"Oh yeah?! I'll show ya luck!" yelled the rat as he aimed a punch. He missed the duck by mere inches and hit a random suer, who didn't take it quite well. One punch lead to another and pretty soon, a full-on fistfight broke out between the rest of the suitors. The guests swarmed around, cheering and placing bets on the winner of the battle of so called honor. The guards rushed from their posts to break it off. No attention was put to the rapid clinking of heels as Daisy, in a huff, hopped right off her throne and dashed for the balcony.

'What's the point?' she thought. She'll never say yes to the right guy when everyone else keeps trying to woo her into making them King. The nerve of them! Oh wait until she sees the look on their little faces once she puts her defenses up. Say what Minnie will, love just brings more trouble than it's worth. "'Might be worth it' That's a laugh." She muttered to herself. The growing silence as she reached her destination became music to her ears. "Besides," she clenched a fist to her chest,"it's not like I'll fall in love at first sight."

Perhaps she spoke too soon, for when she walked out in the open, Daisy spotted a figure already there at the edge of the balcony. She tip-toed until she could at least make out the silhouette under the dim moonlight:

A duck in blue gazing at the sparkling ocean.


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's note: It's finally here!**

 **Welcome to the world of Of Shackles and Ashes! I would like to thank dixiemame for inspiring me to write this as well as encouraging me along the way, and the people from the mouse and duck discord servers for being so supportive and welcoming. Couldn't have done it without you guys!**

 **I apologize to the people who had to wait so long since the story's preview. Luckily, Chapter 2 is already in the works, so there's the chance it won't take months like this had. Hope you enjoy!**

 **Fun fact: "Cendre" is French for 'cinder' as this was influenced by Charles Perrault's "Cendrillon."**

* * *

One may find the concept of sailing overwhelming, mundane even, but to him, this was the life.

On a grand ship drifting through the sea, a lone sailor rested his head on crossed arms. He gazed at the horizon while letting out a relieved sigh. This was a habit of his whenever he stared at the ocean, but he couldn't help it. With the perfect weather shining down and his troubles miles and miles away, what more could he possibly want? And best of all, it was peaceful. No disturbances other than the sound of waves splashing against the ship's hull and the faint calling of seagulls.

Wait, seagulls? 

The sailor shifted his focus away from the water, and saw little dots of what he assumed were seagulls soaring around the sky from a speck of green. Could he be close to land already? He climbed a rope ladder up to the crow's nest, pulled out a telescope from his coat, and peeked through the lens. Sure enough, a beach was spotted in the distance. Boy oh boy, this was it. 

"Full speed ahead!" He commanded to no one as he put the telescope away and swung back down. While he started to unfasten the sails, he pitched up his voice and yelled out "Yes, Sir!" as well as give a quick salute to the imaginary Captain. He pulled ropes and pulleys before reaching to the helm and steadying the ship. "Forward!" he shouted and as if on cue, a gush of wind blew into the sailcloth, sending the ship racing through the water.

With all his force, the sailor steered the speeding vessel towards the shore, the salty air rushing through his white feathers. The closer he made it to the beach, the louder his cheers became, and a sense of pride swelled up inside him. 

This was what he was destined for. This was the thrill he'd been yearning for his whole life. Those back home would've mocked the very thought of him adventuring out at sea. Well, won't they be in for a surprise, for he could already hear someone repeatedly calling out to him. This was it, he can feel it. Once he lands, today will mark the day the whole world will realize his worth. His life will no longer be the same or his name isn't-

"DONALD!"

If that wasn't enough to snap him out of it, then it was the swift WHACK to the head by his uncle's cane that did the trick.

Here awoke Donald Duck, not on a ship but in a massive room cramped with stacks and stacks of gold coins divided according to their polished state. Upon realizing that he had mixed around the gold unknowingly throughout his daydream, Donald reached for the sore spot on his head when the sound of that very cane tapped on the coins. He hesitantly turned to the elderly man glaring down at him.

"What nonsense were ye trying to pull? I could hear your blabberin' all the way from me office! When did I ever say to swim through the gold? Look at this jumble! Do I have to keep knocking some sense into you?!"

"No, Uncle Scrooge. I'll fix this up right now," said Donald as he grabbed handfuls of coins in an attempt to organize it, but Scrooge didn't come by to only scold.

"That's enough of your slacking for tonight. Now get going! We're having a house meeting," he demanded. Donald somberly obeyed and dropped the coins. He wanted to argue that he wasn't purposely slacking off, but admitting to what he was actually doing would be worse. He followed his uncle out of the room, pulling his goggles off along the way. Cleaning raw coins meant raw dust, dirt, and gunk everywhere, so Donald would wear them as protection. Meanwhile, Scrooge grumbled under his breath until they approached the housekeeper.

Mrs. Beakley, stern and upright, guarded one side of the doorway to the office while her small granddaughter Webby guarded the other, imitating her authoritative posture. They welcomed the two men with a silent nod (and an ecstatic wave from Webby that Donald waved back to) before opening the door and joining them inside. Already in a chair with his legs crossed rested another duck, who had been occupying himself by combing his blonde curls of hair and dusting off his frock coat. Gladstone Gander greeted his more raggedy cousin with a smirk as he took a seat next to him, much to said cousin's annoyance. Scrooge adjusted his chair behind his desk as he rubbed his temples.

"Now that the meeting is in order, I want to say first that it seems the only heirs to my will are complete deadbeats!" Donald hung his head low while Gladstone went unfazed, finding the clover leaf pendant on his cravat a higher priority. Scrooge rambled on, "All these years living under _my_ roof and it's like I never taught you anything. Why, when I was your age-"

"'You learned to be 'tougher than the toughies and smarter than the smarties'. We know. You don't need to tell us this a million times." Donald interrupted without lifting his eyes from the floor. This earned him another whack from Scrooge's cane, this time on his arm, but Scrooge didn't continue his backstory, so it was worth it at least. He was going to until he heard Gladstone's "subtle" snickering.

"What's so funny? Don't think you're off the hook, ye layabout. If you quit loafing around for once, maybe you'll finally realize that success isn't something to sit around and wait for!"

Gladstone pressed a hand to his chest and gasped, "Who says I have to wait for it?" He was known for one thing and that was that he never worked a day in his life to get what he wanted. That's what his good luck was for.

Scrooge groaned and buried his face in his hands. What is he ever going to do with these children? Oh wait. After a moment of silence, he said, "However, that's not the only reason why I called for you all tonight," he reached under his desk, catching everyone's attention. Even Mrs. Beakley had no idea what Scrooge was planning. "Consider this a proposition." He uttered before sitting back up and dropping two tiny sacks of money on the top of the desk. It shocked Donald that such a miser of an uncle would be willing to trust him with something, especially money he didn't have to polish.

"Are we investing this?"

Scrooge scoffed, "Don't to be ridiculous, nephew. There's a sale going on at the marketplace that ends tomorrow, and frankly, I'm in the mood for some haggis. Your task is to go fetch some ingredients. You get the onions, and Gladstone, you get the oatmeal."

Donald tried to wrap his head around this. "So... grocery shopping? But, isn't that just Beakley's job?" Mrs. Beakley grunted at him. "Sorry, Mrs. B. What I meant to say was.. what's the point of this?"

"Each sack contains 30 gold. The point is to use as little of it as necessary while getting a good bargain. A way to practice how to save money wisely. If you have the gall to think you're worthy of inheriting my hard earned fortune, then do this one thing and perhaps I'll reconsider. But, I better not hear of any commotions tomorrow." He glared at Donald, who said nothing. "Especially from you."

"I say, Uncle McBillions, this is quite the prudent task," Gladstone chuckled right as he got off his seat to slap Scrooge on the back. "Your wisdom is truly something I admire and-"

"Don't you start with that." Scrooge snapped, sending Gladstone a few steps back. "Now then, are we in agreement?" The cousins looked at each other, then at Scrooge, and slowly nodded. It's not like they had much of a choice anyway. "Good. Now off to bed, both of you! I expect this done in the morning. No exceptions!"

"Yes, Uncle Scrooge," exclaimed Donald and Gladstone in unison. They both raced for the door and got stuck between the doorway in the process. Donald had to give up and let Gladstone go first to let everyone through. Webby almost ran off to wherever until Mrs. Beakley picked her up.

"That goes for you too." she instructed. Webby whined but followed her grandmother as soon as she was let down. As for Donald, he walked upstairs to his bedroom and plopped onto his bed, his body aching and ready to end the day with some sleep. He re-positioned himself so he could face the wall.

In an open space between the bed and the corner, various ocean maps and diagrams of boats were plastered on that only Donald sees. Some he drew by hand, some by trace, and some he ripped out of old library books. It served as his daily motivation to keep him going throughout the day. In the hopes that maybe, just maybe...

Pulling a worn out blanket over his shoulders, he tried to picture himself back on that ship about to be welcomed with open arms.

Nothing happened. Of course it didn't. How could it?

This was the real life. 

* * *

Saying that the castle staff caught up in a frenzy would be putting it far too lightly. Before the crack of dawn, servants have raced back and forth between rooms to keep things in tip-top shape. Shouts of "Has she arrived yet?" echoed through the halls followed by "Not yet!" Cooks have already begun preparing meals, some tasting like the time it took to make them. Anything had to be accomplished in time for Queen Margaret's long-awaited return.

Only one stayed put during this time of delirium, though her anxiousness outmatched the rest. She stood by a window in the hallway, twiddling her thumbs while occasionally glancing at the clock. With unease shown clearly on her face, it didn't take long for another servant to stop what she was doing and take notice of this odd behavior.

"Are you alright?" she asked as she tapped on the woman's shoulder. The woman jumped at the gesture as if abruptly woken up from a deep sleep. When she took notice of the big hen standing near her, she laughed nervously, trying to tuck her black hair behind her round ears.

"Oh! I-I'm fine, Clara," she stuttered, blushing all while avoiding eye contact. Like that was going to fool anyone, and Clara was no exception. She went down on one knee to reach the mouse's height, her hand still on her shoulder.

"Minnie, be honest. Is there something wrong?"

The woman, Minnie, refused to meet Clara's eyes, preferring to view the kingdom of Cendre instead. "I-it's nothing, really. I-" She paused for a brief minute and forced a grin. "I'm simply excited to see Margaret, that's all. It feels like such a long time since I saw her." Clara cocked an eyebrow. She remained unconvinced, but reluctantly accepted that this wasn't something for her business to intrude. Sighing, she straightened up and patted Minnie on the head.

"I don't know what goes on between you two, but let me tell you this: You may be her personal assistant, but at the end of the day, you have only yourself to worry about." Clara then ruffled her hair, which did make her genuinely smile. "I have to get going now. Those sheets aren't going to fold themselves, you know."

"Of course." Minnie nodded, wishing good luck to Clara as she hurried to the next room down the hall. Once she left, Minnie dropped the smile, proceeding with her thumb-twiddling and clock-checking. There were plenty of other things to do, especially in this rush, but it's just that-

That...

Well, 'that' will have to wait until Her Highness comes home. Maybe by then, Minnie will gather up enough courage to finally blurt it out. _Any minute now_ , she assured herself as she watched rays of light begin to peek out the window. 

* * *

Donald shielded his face as he sluggishly stepped into the rising sunlight. He didn't try to look presentable with his disheveled feathers and visible dark bags under his blue eyes. After a restless sleep, his main objective today was getting the task over with. It didn't sound so bad. Just get onions at a cheap price, then go home without a fuss. Nothing to it, right?

Still, how can he beat Gladstone? With that luck, he wouldn't need to use the money at all. The oatmeal could be a prize of some raffle or a special offer for being the so-and-so customer. It wouldn't be surprising if a giant sack of it fell from the sky and landed right at his feet. Trying to go against the lucky gander was like volunteering to fail.

Donald smacked his forehead. Come on, man, focus. Competition or not, there's no denying he has to prove to Scrooge that he's more than capable of handling tasks and following directions. Sure, it's guaranteed he'll come out last, but maybe his uncle will turn out impressed by his efforts. If this was all it takes, then by gosh, he'll do it!

At the end of the cobblestone driveway, Donald spotted through blinding sunshine what resembled black circles bobbing up and down the road. The paperboy had arrived, whistling a merry tune with a bag of mail strapped around his shoulder. Behind him was a golden furred dog walking to the beat of the melody with a roll of newspaper in his mouth. The mansion stood alone on a grassy hilltop at the outskirts of Cendre, making this his last stop.

"Hey, Mickey," Donald yawned as he stretched his arms. Upon hearing his master's name called, the dog rushed towards him without warning and jumped up to lick his face. It was then that the paperboy stopped whistling and turned to his direction.

"Hiya, Donald!," he chirped, surprised yet pleased to see him. "Whatcha doing out here at this hour?"

"Eh, family errands," Donald shrugged while scratching the excitable pup's back. "Gotta head to the marketplace for stuff. Gladstone's taking a carriage, but I might just walk. Could use a little workout. Uh, mind if I join you and Pluto til we get there?"

"Not at all. It's always nice to have some company," Mickey beamed, and later said, "Can you give me a minute? Pluto!" He held out a hand in front of his canine companion, signaling him to get off of Donald and let go of the newspaper. Their shift wasn't over yet. Pluto obliged, spitting out the roll onto Mickey's hand so he can place it on the mansion's front steps. Once he did that, he reached into his bag and pulled out a colorful postcard, handing it over to Donald. "Here's your mail. It's another one from Fethry."

"Where's that crazy loon off to now?" Donald chuckled as he flipped over the postcard. He recognized the wacky handwriting of his cousin Fethry, who used to live with the family as a kid, but moved out years later to, in his words, 'see the world'. Since then, he'd been sending cards from the many places he visited. This one consisted of little doodles and a stamp with a cathedral printed on. As eccentric as Fethry was, Donald kind of missed having him around. Him and...

After tucking the postcard into his vest, he asked Mickey, "So, did something exciting happen to you lately?" He could say he watched paint dry and that'd be more thrilling compared to Donald's never-ending chore in that room. Really, any answer would do. As long as it changed the topic.

Pluto nudged Mickey's leg with his nose. Indeed, something did happen as of lately. Mickey thought it through, not entirely sure if he's allowed to say it. Oh, why not? Might as well spill the beans. "I don't know if you'd call it 'exciting', but I applied to volunteer at-"

"We're behind schedule!" Scrooge burst out the door followed by Gladstone, dressed in fine clothing for someone going grocery shopping. Scrooge tipped his top hat at the paperboy in greeting but was in no mood for chit-chatting. "Where in blazes is Launchpad?" he tapped his foot, staring at a silver pocket watch. "He should be here by now."

Twirling a sleek cane of his own, Gladstone approached the friends and laid an arm around Mickey's shoulder, lightly shoving Donald aside. "Hey-hey, how's it going, Big Ears? Don't see you here often. Then again, I'm usually asleep at this time."

"Hello, Gladstone," Mickey's voice trailed off, forgetting what he was going to tell Donald. Man, this was awkward. He still hasn't got over the name 'Big Ears'. It's not an insult, he knew that, but it still rubbed him the wrong way. He gently pulled Gladstone's arm off of him. "Pluto and I were just stopping by to-"

Out of nowhere, Launchpad McQuack, Scrooge's private coachman, pulled into the driveway, or for a lack of a better word, attempted to. The carriage he drove ended up running into a shrubbery before coming to a full stop. It became understandable why Donald wanted to walk. "Woah! Morning, Mr. McDee!" shouted Launchpad, a gentle giant always ready to assist. "Sorry 'bout the bush!"

"Never mind that, lad." Scrooge groaned, picking up the newspaper. A broken bush was less costly to repair than a broken vehicle. He'll give him that. "What are ye doin' diddle-daddling for? Scram! You're late as it is!" he directed at his nephews. Gladstone made his way to the carriage and climbed inside. Launchpad waved goodbye as the steed began to canter until he remembered to pay attention to where he was going.

Donald was about to set on foot with Mickey and Pluto when Scrooge yelled out, "Don't come back until everything's done right! You hear me? Don't you dare waste my gold, you ingrate!" Donald bit his tongue and shook his head, not bothering to answer.

Though they were soon out of his sight, Mickey whispered in the hope that Scrooge wouldn't hear them from afar, "Say Donald, don't you think it's high time for you to leave that place? No offense, but I don't think you'd want to spend the rest of your life as a servant."

Donald snorted like it was the most ridiculous remark he ever heard, and there were plenty. "I'm no servant", he quipped, "Servants get paid." Mickey frowned at his take on humor, even Pluto whimpered. Donald's speed quicken. "Look, don't think so much about it. I'm not leaving and that's final." He grabbed a stick for Pluto to fetch. "On the bright side, the boys will be coming over in a couple of weeks. Their mom's letting them stay longer than usual."

"... You two still aren't...?" 

"No." Donald sadly sighed while Mickey winced. It was a touchy subject, so he should've known better than to expect a different answer, but Donald wasn't mad. That question was bound to be asked at some point and he preferred it coming from his best friend than anyone else.

Mickey took Donald's spot of throwing the stick whenever Pluto brought it back in delight until they reached the marketplace. The overview gave off an empty vibe save for a couple of villagers, a guardsman on duty, some horses roaming around, and open shops. Not even Gladstone or Launchpad were spotted.

"Where'd everyone go?" Donald let out. Was there even a sale going on? Apparently yes, if the front sign display reading "Half Off All Merch" had a say in it. So what gives?

"They're probably at the castle waiting for the Queen." Mickey quickly answered as they made it to another pathway. "'Supposed to be this big ceremony for her return. I'm thinking of heading over there with Pluto once I clock out."

Donald wasn't someone who got on track with the latest gossip news. To him, there were more important matters at hand. "Go ahead. I gotta get this done fast. Luckily, there's no tra- WAK!

Just as he laid a foot on the seemingly empty road, a familiar carriage speed by, almost trampling him. Donald was able to dodge in time, falling onto the pavement while a cry of "Sorry!" got muffled by the laughter of villagers close by. In contrast to his lucky relative, Donald was known for his frequent misfortunes, such as getting splashed by a puddle or getting his shirt stuck. His humiliation was everyone's entertainment.

Only Mickey helped pull him up. "I'm guessing that was them?"

"Most likely..."

It might be that Launchpad was currently looking for a place to park or that Gladstone had so shockingly beat him to it and is driven home, but both chances meant that Donald has to pick up the pace. After that incident, he bade farewell to Mickey and Pluto and headed to the nearest vegetable stand he could find. While most had their products at the front, this one had them stored behind a counter. He rung the little bell for service and waited for a figure appeared to give a friendly welcome.

"Good morning- Pete?"

"The one and only!" hollered an obese black feline emerging from the stand. He towered over Donald with his intimidating presence and girth, leaving him speechless. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" he banged the counter in laughter at his own joke. Something felt off.

"Last thing I've heard from you, you were arrested for petty thievery."

"That was so long ago. I've learned my ways since then. I'm a changed man fillin' in for a good pal o' mine. So!" He clapped his hands, "What can I getcha?"

Donald doubted anyone, pal or not, would ever leave their establishment to someone as sleazy as Pete. He looked around in case a person came by searching for their rightful shop. When no such person showed up, he groaned and went over his order as instructed. "One pound of medium-sized yellow onions."

Pete cupped his chin and "hmm"ed to give the impression of calculating the estimate. "Let's see. That'll be 30 gold!"

Donald almost started counting when it hit him. That costed exactly what he was given. Spending it all already wasn't part of the task. He stood his ground, "But the sign says everything's half off. It should be 15 gold, not 30. I haven't seen what I'm buying yet."

Pete anticipated this. "Have I got the ones for you!" He opened a drawer, letting out countless flies as well as the foulest stench that he seemed immune to, and shoved a crate down Donald's arms. It reeked of spoiled onions, and those smelled horrible to begin with. Donald didn't need to look inside to shove it back, cover his beak, and gag.

"Oh, don't let its appearance deceive you. You see, these are no ordinary onions. They come from a dark place where no simple man, and certainly no duck, has ever trespassed." Pete jabbed a thumb to his wide chest. "It takes tough guys like me to go and fetch 'em."

"Yeah, the dumpster," mumbled Donald, pinching his nostrils. No way Scrooge would accept rotten food (Or anyone in that case). There's got to be a way around this. While Pete left to swat the flies away, Donald examined the stand piece by piece. He crawled inside, poked the other food on display, which turned out to also be rotten ("Yuck!"), and tapped on the wood. Finally, with a light kick at the bottom, he felt something hard against its cloth. On all fours, he lifted it to find poorly hidden crates that smelled much better than what Pete offered. He ripped the lids off until, aha!, he saw freshly picked onions huddled together.

He knew it! That crook! Crawling out, Donald grabbed the crate and laid it by his feet. He pretended to have waited the whole time when Pete came back, his grip tight on an onion behind his back. One thing had to be made clear before ratting him out. "So, this is the only batch I can get. Is that right?"

Pete crossed his heart. "I swear it." _Oh, I'm sure,_ Donald thought. Dropping the facade, he pulled out the onion and pointed at it.

"Then what's this?"

Pete's jaw dropped, his face paling. Where did he get that? He bent down and noticed an empty space under the stand. That little- "Uh...you-you don't want that. Those come from boring, ordinary farms. They ain't nothin' special."

"Who gives a _darn_ if they're 'special' or not? You've been trying to rip me off by selling expensive garbage! I'm taking this home with me, and for the actual price." After throwing 15 gold pieces at Pete, he yanked the fresh crate from the ground with one hand and prepared to leave. "'Changed man.' If it wasn't because I'm in a hurry, I'd report you right this second! Good riddance!"

It'd be nice to pummel that puny wimp if it weren't for that guardsman, but Pete had other plans. He may be a petty criminal, but he wasn't an entirely stupid one. That little tantrum a moment ago gave him an idea. He leaned over the counter to Donald and lowered his voice enough for him to hear, "I'm not liking your little attitude there, Quackers. Actin' so rude to a poor man trying to make a business. You rich folk sure do think you can get your way."

It worked. Donald stopped, " _What_?"

"You heard me, nephew of the oh-so-great Scrooge McDuck. You don't know what it feels like to be pushed around. I bet all you do is lounge on some fancy-shmancy sofa sipping tea or somethin'. You and the rest of your lousy family."

Being related to the richest non-royal duck in the land meant being interpreted as some spoiled rich kid. Donald faced this so many times to the point that he had long since given up on telling them otherwise. Gladstone was no help in defying the conception either. But never, under any circumstance, was it acceptable to insult Donald's family right in his face.

" _Take it back!_ " His voice raised.

Pete smiled smugly. "I could, buuut," He rubbed his big fingers together, "It's gonna cost ya extra."

Donald realized Pete's plan in that instant, but his evergrowing anger won against reason. He sensed the villagers peeking their heads in, wondering where all the yelling was coming from, and Scrooge's warning of no commotions played in his head. Inhaling deeply, Donald let go of the crate, pulled the sack out, and slammed it on the counter, the onion still in his other grasp. "Fine. Take the stinkin' money. It doesn't matter. Just knock it off."

After getting all of Donald's gold like he wanted, now should've been the time for Pete to leave him alone, but this was too much fun to quit. It's not everyday you get to poke fun at the temperamental duck and get away with it. He kept going, not thinking of the outcome. "Glad to see you had a change of heart, ducky. 'Course, it won't change the fact that your family's still a bunch of worthless little-"

" ** _SHUT UP!_** "

Donald hurled the onion in a fiery rage and stormed off, leaving behind the crate. He didn't care that everyone was gawking at him. He didn't care that he's going home empty handed. He didn't care that he has to face Scrooge and tell him he used up all the coins. He. Didn't. Care.

However, the villagers weren't actually looking at him, per se. How strange. For such an outburst, he didn't expect a cracking sound of all noises to fill in the silence. Wait, where was that coming from anyway? And why is it getting louder, lasting longer by the next? Curiosity grew too big to ignore. Senses slowly coming back, he turned around.

At what was possibly his worst ever, Donald managed to smash into one of the wooden poles that kept the stand in place, to the verge of splitting. His heart collapsed to his stomach.

"Uh oh.."

The pole snapped into two pieces. The roof tilted and collapsed backwards. Everyone gasped as it hit the ground with a thunderous **_CRASH._** Nearby horses became started and reared on their hind legs. A man tried to soothe them to no avail. They galloped away, damaging whatever laid in their path with the carts they pulled. From this, little shops started to topple against the other like deadly dominoes.

"I WILL CALL FOR HELP!" the guardsman shouted as he sprinted away. "PLEASE REMAIN CALM!". That was near impossible with villagers screaming and running in all directions to escape the rampage. Donald meanwhile stayed frozen in his tracks. Dust filled the air; properties were crushed. He could hardly breathe at these sudden chain of events. All this chaos from an _onion_?

At last, true to his word, the guardsman returned, along with his teammates and their captain on their chargers. They were at the ceremony when he pleaded for assistance, and they . Orders were made to evacuate people and send the horses safely to their owners. Villagers formed into a crowd, pushing and dragging one another out of the area. One found Pete under the ruins, surprisingly unscathed by crouching under the ruined stand.

Because there were fewer counts than on a daily basis, it was easier for the guards to lead everybody to a field near the hilltop. They watched as the destruction reached the farthest edges of the marketplace. Fortunately, it didn't spread to other parts of the kingdom, and larger buildings hadn't been affected. However, it didn't make the situation any less dangerous. Whoever was responsible for the damage will not go scot-free. The captain waited till the noise died down to step off his horse and, in quite an outlandish fashion, gesture at the crowd.

"Alright, which one of you is the perpetrator?"

At once, the villagers took a step to the side, leaving a petrified Donald smack-dab in the middle. He gulped, trying to explain his side of the story, but it was too late. He flinched when a guard grabbed him by the collar, and watched in horror as his wrists felt the weight of iron cuffs.

It was at that point that Donald's life finally began to change. Not in the way he had hoped.


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** Happy Easter/April Fool's Day, everyone. I'm back from the dead with a new chapter!

I'm so sorry to keep you guys waiting for so long. School has been really stressing me out. It's mostly having to do with AP Literature essays, which really sucked the joy of writing with me over-criticizing everything I make in such a limited amount of time. But now that Spring Break has come and ended, I took the chance into finally finishing this chapter (I refuse to become the Ducktales hiatus!)

I am afraid to say that this might have to be the usual time it takes to write a new chapter unless the upcoming months are less of a hassle. Writing, editing, and rewriting takes longer than you may think. I'm certain I've made some errors here and there. I'll fix those soon. But I will say that this story is still going strong.

Thank you so much for putting up with me and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

The ceremony had begun with hundreds of citizens crowding the main gate to the castle, all unaware of the disaster just a few miles away. By now, the staff finally took a moment to breathe after their state of pandemonium earlier, which they refused to acknowledge. They along with some aristocrats hung around the entrance hall engaging in gossip while waiting for you-know-what. Among them was Minnie, who sat alone on a stairway listening to the muffled cheering outside, again overthinking her concerns.

Okay, so she might have been staring out that window for too long. She still could've sworn a cloud of dust appeared somewhere in the distance. No matter, she took it upon herself to become distant from it. She had herself to worry about. Minnie knew Clara meant well and she'd always be grateful for that. After all, there's no crime in offering a piece of comforting advice.

… If only it stopped this naggy feeling lingering in her mind…

Blaring trumpets then silenced the hall. The cheering outside was soon replaced by ascending footsteps. A click from the main doors sent everyone's heads snapping to its direction. She was coming in? Now? Already? They all kept still as guards widen the doors. Some made last minute touch ups to look presentable. However, it wasn't the Queen who entered, but the Grand Duke, much to their, save for Minnie's, disappointment.

Goofy, as he's generally known as, had been the one left in charge of Cendre during the Queen's absence. He was a lanky dog with black fur, buck teeth, and clothes that, despite its fine quality, hung loosely over his body, making them the frequent cause of his frequent clumsy trips (which happened frequently). He carried Her Highness' luggage and the intention of spreading his arms out and hollering, "Hey everybody! Queeny's here!" But before he could even start his proclamation, something clicked within the aristocrats and they all bolted out of the hall, trampling over the poor nobleman. This wasn't a shocking scene based on the staff's eyerolls.

"Tell me again why she trusts him?" asked a servant, casually grabbing the fallen luggage.

"No clue. She just does." Another shrugged as they brought it upstairs. Minnie heard this and scowled.

She went immediately to the Duke's aid, grabbing his arm and helping him sit upright. "Goofy, are you well?" The two have known each other since childhood, and even then, Minnie always felt the need to be courteous. He laid a hand to his forehead and blinked multiple times.

"Gawrsh, real frisky folk, aren't they?" He mumbled. His ability to withstand anything like it was nothing still boggled her. After leaning Goofy against a wall, Minnie glanced at the aristocrats hurrying back inside. They were now huddling around someone who she knew no doubt was Margaret.

It'd be risky to try catching up to her in that stampede given the mouse's small frame, but it's a risk Minnie was willing to take. She ran into the huddle shouting "Excuse me!" only to get shoved right back. Alright… She tried calling out by her nickname but that too got drowned out. Are these people really that desperate for a conversation? This was ridiculous.

And then the crowd stopped as if obeying a silent command, Minnie took this to her advantage and pushed her way through freely, but it was no victory. It turned out that the reason behind the sudden halt had to do with their object of attention. The Queen walked right past the aristocrats and climbed up the stairs with her head hung low, not a word spoken.

Everyone including the staff stared at each other dumbfounded. Nobody said anything, not even when Goofy regained his consciousness and blurted out, "What I miss?"

* * *

Maybe he's dreaming. Yeah, th-that's it. That's gotta be it. None of this was real. No, it was only a dream this whole time. More like a nightmare, but that's alright. Any minute now, he's gonna wake up safe, sound, and in absolutely no deep trouble whatsoever. Just have to wait for it to end.

"Alrighty, settle down, people! Settle down!"

Any minute now…

"Quit blocking my view!"

Any minute now…

"People, please!"

Any—oh, forget it. He'll force himself awake. But a lift of his hand reminded Donald once again of the heavy cuffs still locked to his wrists. The constant noise around him couldn't be blocked out any longer, and he slowly opened his eyes, having shut them tight for a while. Try as he might, no pinches to the arm will get him out of this courtroom.

After... what happened, the villagers pushed for a quick hearing, eager to watch his testimony. Pete most of all, who bandaged his head to a hilariously exaggerated amount. They cramped themselves into their respective spots as Donald was rammed to the center of it all for everyone to see. Meanwhile, the Captain and his guards had been trying to quiet them down, "Settle down already! This is supposed to be my introduction!"

"That's enough." echoed a well spoken voice. From behind the Judge's bench arrived an old goose. Despite his short and non-threatening stature, his presence alone was enough to shush everyone, much to the Captain's delight.

"Ah, Judge Hooter. Glad you could make it. Sorry you had to leave the ceremony so soon, but this is an emergency." He pulled out parchments of paper and began to read through. "The defendant here is Donald…Fauntleroy Duck" he covered his mouth to avoid incoming laughter, which didn't sit well with Donald. He continued to skim through, "Let's see...Birthday: June 9th...Parents...uh...Legal Guardian: Scrooge McDuck, Esquire." Speaking of Scrooge, he was present at the trial along with Gladstone, Launchpad, and his empty stomach. He sat behind Donald, glaring at him coldly. Not that Donald actually looked over his shoulder and saw him. He just knew.

Finding what he was looking for, the Captain handed a parchment over to the Judge. He adjusted his glasses and examined the information, "According to your records, this was not the first time you had this sort of incident. There've been previous reports of public tantrums and uncontrollable rage. But never, from what I've seen, was it ever this extreme. Captain Mallard, explain the incident from your perspective."

"Your Honor, what we had witnessed was a true catastrophe! I shall never forget it! Horses running rampant. Stands crashing into the other. Widespread panic all over the marketplace! It's a miracle help arrived just in time, led by yours truly: Drake Mallard, Captain of the Royal Guard and Defender of Justice! I am the dreaded hiatus that's overstayed its welcome!" He quickly bowed and flashed a badge that featured all his titles engraved on it. _Get a load of this guy_ , Donald thought. Even the villagers found the Captain acting a bit overly dramatic. "Under my protective watch, Hooter, villagers were escorted to safety, so no one was hurt!" A very very evident cough soon disrupted his speech. Mallard glared at Pete, who then whistled like there were no such disruption. "-okay fine- _severely_ hurt. Your Honor, I'm guessing Mister Pete would like to give his input since he is a key witness."

"Permission granted."

Pete anticipated this, having prepared his moment of glory. All he had to do was hold his hands together and pout, "You see, Judge. I was just mindin' my own business. Sellin' some vegetables for an honest coin. " He forced such an innocent tone you would think a halo was taped to his wrapped head. "Then he came in with that temper of his! I gave him what he asked for and yet he insulted me, throwin' coins at me and wreckin' my beloved establishment with my onion!"

"Phooey!." Donald bellowed, gripping his fists. "I wasn't 'insulting' you. I was calling you out for lying to my face! Somebody must have heard me. They would know!"

"Like anyone knows a word you say!" remarked a villager. Laughter filled the room. Donald felt his anger coming back.

The Captain too began to lose his own patience, crossing his arms. "Listen, kid. You'll get your turn to talk-"

"But this bozo was ripping me off! Overpricing rotten junk while hiding fresh batches underneath! I saw it! He's the real criminal!"

"Maybe we could go over there right now and inspect it ourselves. Oh wait, _we can't_. Why? Because it's busy being buried under all that debris! From what, you ask? From the calamity _you_ caused!"

"It was an accident! Yeah, I threw a stupid onion, but I never _wanted_ to destroy anything! How could I've known it'd turn out that way if I planned it out this whole time? Please, you gotta believe me!" Donald might as well be begging on his knees, but these folks still wouldn't be convinced. Is he nothing more than some kind of explosive in their eyes?

Of course it was Pete who ended up answering that question when he smirked, "Not so tough now, are ya, hothead?"

"CUT IT OUT!"

Villagers shrieked and cowered, guards drew their weapons, and Scrooge facepalmed. Donald breathed heavily, hearing whispers of "He's gonna do it again." He's not really helping himself, is he?

The Judge peeked from behind his chair, "So it's true. You do not deny these actions?"

Donald lowered his head in defeat. Even if what he did wasn't on purpose, he was responsible regardless. "... I don't," he sighed, waiting for his punishment.

"Very well. It is clear to myself that the defendant is guilty of the allegations made against him. However, in his defense, this incident ranged to only a small percentage of the area. Restoring the Marketplace will not be an issue with the fines Mr. McDuck will, ahem, 'happily' pay for." Scrooge nearly fainted. "There were no severe injuries as Captain Mallard mentioned. I will point out that Mister Pete's records are also questionable, so if the boy's story is indeed true, then this was no case of vandalism. Though there is a lack of true evidence for full confirmation."

"Well, Your Honor? What's the penalty?" asked Mallard, putting away his sword.

The Judge paused and thought for a moment before declaring, "Donald Duck. For property damage and disturbing the peace, your sentence shall be… _hanging_ —" Everyone gasped all at once until he started coughing. "—Excuse me. Don't know where that came from— _hanging around your house at all times_!"

"Wait wait wait, you mean house incarceration?" Mallard looked at him in utter confusion. All that for what was pretty much a slap on the wrist? For Pete, the fact that he gets to roam free was satisfying enough.

"Yes, house incarceration." the Judge affirmed." For 2 full months, the boy is forbidden from leaving his residence. He will be unable to make contact outside his home or tamper any equipment that establishes him as a prisoner. Any violation to these rules will result in a jail sentence."

Scrooge got up, ready to give a piece of his mind, "Now hold on just a flippin'-"

"Mr. McDuck, if you wish to discuss this any further, we shall speak in private. But my mind has been made. Starting this afternoon, adjustments will be made to your household. Court adjourned!"

Donald's heart beat rapidly, his fingertips freezing. He was now deemed a prisoner in his own home. A home he's been yearning to leave. As villagers began to exit out, he watched Scrooge stride towards the Judge, giving his nephew a stern glance and a disappointed head shake. Launchpad looked on with worry while Gladstone did nothing else but shrug. He was carrying a sack of oatmeal...

It's moments like these where Donald would ask himself if things could get any worse, but what was the point of asking when you know it will anyway?

* * *

On what was supposed to be a celebratory day to welcome back the Queen, the one person not rising up to the occasion...was the Queen herself. The rest of the morning couldn't have been more awkward with her silence during things like feasting or unpacking her luggage. Then there's also her insistence on being alone. As of currently, she's secluded herself in her room. Margaret was an outgoing, enthusiastic, if not feisty, woman. What happened?

Unsure on how to deal with this gloomy demeanor, everyone living under the castle's roof chose the more easier route and ignored it altogether, believing it'd be temporary. But Minnie was query of that, for it was present long before the trip, growing more apparent than she feared. To soothe herself, Minnie roamed around a hall adorned with paintings of past rulers. She took particular notice of one taking up a chunk of the wall.

This painting, with its intricate golden frame, featured a king, a short duck in grey with black hair sprouting from both sides of his head and a loony expression. His wife, a taller more relaxed lady duck in a violet gown, had her hand rested around his shoulder. And in-between the couple stood a girl hugging a teddy bear. The little princess wore a pink dress, a bow on her white hair to match, and such a cute smile Minnie loved so dearly. Has it truly been so long ago since—

"Miss Minerva?"

Minnie jumped, turning around to find it was just the butler who called for her. Unfazed, he cleared his throat for good measure while she let out a queasy laugh again. Either people ought to quit popping out of thin air or she ought to be more aware of her surroundings.

"Y-yes?"

"My apologies, Miss, but Her Majesty wishes to speak to you at her quarters if you aren't currently occupied," Minnie's heart skipped a beat. Did he just say what she thought he said? Had luck decided to bless her this time around?

"N-No, not at all! Thank you so much, Duckworth. I'll be right over there! " she smiled, trying hard to restrain herself. She curtsied before the stoic Duckworth and scurried to the private corridors, not stopping until she reached the Queen's door. This was it. Her one chance. She caught her breath, raised a fist, and… stayed that way.

Should she admit to what's troubling her? How long has this really been going on for? How was she even going to approach the issue? What would she say? Would it considered rude to mention it? Oh, why does she always make things harder than it should be?! She can't let a little tension blow it. You can do this. Taking a deep gulp, she knocked.

"Come in," came a young woman's voice, more anxious than expected. Minnie slowly turned the handle and opened it gently til it was only a crack. Through it, she spotted that little princess walking back and forth. Minnie poked her head in, addressing her friend by a name only those close would know.

"You wanted to see me, Daisy?"


	4. Chapter 3

Scrooge McDuck was a man of many words, and it's no surprise as to why. A self-made _élite_ who earned his vast fortune through various treasure expeditions, his prideful nature gets the best of his beak. Which was what made today in particular seem out of place for this upper-class duck.

Since the trial, he's maintained his composure when workers arrived at McDuck Mansion to Donald-proof the place. No complaints over the barred windows or the inclusion of fences. No disagreement over the notifications about check-ups throughout the course of these upcoming months, instead bobbing his head justly. It wasn't til long after they've gone that Scrooge decided a time to let out a word or two.

Suffice to say, Mrs. Beakley heard it quite clearly when she was out tending the gardens.

"Granny, what was that?" asked Webby, the sudden noise having startled her game of 'Sacky-Sack'. By instinct, she drew a branch from the ground, ready to investigate the possible danger. "It came from inside."

Mrs. Beakley continued watering the bushes like it's only been a slight annoyance. "It's just Mr. McDuck giving Donald a little 'heart-to-heart', Webby dear," she sighed impassively, "You can put the stick down." Relieved, if a smidge embarrassed, Webby dropped her weapon and chuckled. _How silly of me_ , she thought. Scrooge's temper was nothing new, rivaling even Donald's. That's how it's normally been since she arrived here...right?

Though she disliked interrupting her grandmother's work any further, something crossed Webby's mind. "Hey uh, Granny?"

"Hm?"

"Was...um... Mr. McDuck always like this?"

Mrs. Beakley paused, her stern voice trailing. "Well, I wouldn't say 'always'... " It would've been preferable to brush off the question and move on, but no real answer will just intrigue Webby more, becoming eager to ask again. And again... Sighing, Beakley rose and handed Webby her watering can, "How about this? I'll go talk to him while you water these." Webby nodded and accepted the can (only to play with it once Beakley got inside).

The banter had raged on, reaching to levels of ear-splitting as Beakley got closer, not that it affected her. Unbearable, yes, but not the worst she's faced. Fights like these will eventually end soon without intrusion, so she waited by the vault where it took place. A favorite spot it seems. Funny, she could recall a time when that vault wasn't flooded in riches. When her boss had come to accept his newfound title, as strange as that sounds nowadays. For people like Webby, uncovered aspects of Scrooge's past was like a tale of mystery in need of solving. In Beakley's case however, some events are not worth bringing up.

She heard the squeaking of a spinning hand wheel, and plugged her ears in time for a distinctive voice to burst out, "YER LUCKY I DON'T PLUCK A FEATHER FOR EVERY CENT YOU OWE ME!" Out came Scrooge as he slammed the metallic door with a _CLANG_. Still facing it, he was steadying his breath when Beakley grabbed her opportunity.

"Nice chat, I presume?"

Scrooge's posture drooped and his open arm hung loose. "How long have ye been standin' there?" he grumbled.

"As soon as I hoped Webby hadn't understood your 'colorful _'_ language."

Without looking at her, he paced back and forth, scratching his head with his cane. "I'm in a pickle, Beakley. Do you know how long it took to negotiate his sentence? Curse me kilts! Not only what it had cost me— Get this: The Captain considered keeping soldiers on the property! Soldiers! Spying our every move! I had to persuade Ol' Judge to allow familial guests here or else we'd have to cancel the boys' visit! Imagine the Scrooge McDuck on the verge of _begging_. After everything I've worked for to maintain this reputation. All at stake because a certain INGRATE can't keep his emotions intact! The one warning I give and-" Scrooge finally caught sight of Mrs. Beakley's disapproving stare and hands on her hips. "Oh come on, Beakley." His voice now low and somber. "Don't give me that look. It was about time the lad learned some discipline."

"I understand that, sir. I too condemn his actions. What he did was idiotic and downright impulsive, but do you really think this behavior of yours will improve the situation?" No response aside from 'hmpf'. How typical. "He may be trouble, but he is still your nephew. _Your family_ , remember? You were the one who agreed to take him in." She proceeded to point towards the vault as she towered over him. "Tell me. Was that the care you promised Hortense? Something Matilda would approve of? Or were they right in having their doubts? Because right now, 'the lad' is beginning to sound like someone I know, and I've worked here long enough to doubt it's a good sign."

Scrooge shook his head. "I have no time for this. There's work to be done." He trudged past her.

"You're not a cruel man." She called out. "but is it too much to show you actually care?"

Nothing. He kept going. Beakley rubbed her temples. To try to reason with that man. With any of them. Had she followed him, perhaps she would have gotten to hear a faint "...Ye had to bring 'em up..."

* * *

A rowboat could never substitute for a ship. Yeah, it offered the same tranquil waters and the same salty air, but it lacked the impressive size and tricky mechanics that made it so exciting. Where's the helm? The rudders? It doesn't quite match that breathtaking feeling of being on top of the world.

And those were his two cents on the subject matter if anyone were to ask him one day. Keyword 'if'.

Having been on the receiving end of a recent quarrel has left this lone sailor pretty disgruntled. What with his latest battle scars and desire to punch a wall. He had to drift his mind elsewhere or else the grouchiness will stick with him like a pesky mosquito. And where else but a quick trip to the sea? A single moment to let off some steam. No epic adventure for land this time around. The rowboat will have to do. Granted, it was better than nothing, so he was thankful for that.

The empty shore grew further and further from his reach as he rowed aimlessly through the water, sometimes steering round and round before letting it float on its own. Whatever could serve as a good mental distraction. Speaking of which, there's another thing about rowboats: he's supposed to sit backwards, but how's he to know where he's going? For all he knew, he might Launchpad this thing to a nearby rock. The sailor checked over his shoulder. No rock, just a glimpse of the setting sun over the horizon, its warm colors beaming on his face. He sighed. Should he risk returning to sea, considering the last time?

He reckon reaching down and feeling the current when the rowboat began to tip backwards—er, forwards?— "Huh?" No damage was done to the bow, and he wasn't _that_ heavy, so why's it sinking?! The sailor tried rowing in reverse, leaning forwards, and then clinging to the stern, but nothing helped keep it balanced. "Man overboard!" he screamed as the boat sunk into the water. _Ok, don't panic_ , he reassured himself. _I could swim back. No problem._ After all, being underwater wasn't so bad. Or at least it shouldn't be until something caught hold of his leg.

No thoughts came to the sailor but to swim. Away from whatever was hauling him to the murky bottom. It grew more into a struggle as his cries for help were muffled by bubbles. His vision started to fade...

 _Deeper and deeper it dragged him..._

Donald's hand emerged from the heap of gold, clawing onto the surface. While gasping for air and coughing out coins, he laid beside the bucket of polish when, once again, something pulled at his foot. Donald yanked it, revealing an iron ball and chain clamped to his ankle. Something to 'keep him at bay' during his incarceration. "This isn't gonna work," he groaned as he pulled his goggles back. How could he finish working if this is going to sink him straight to the pits?

Getting to his feet, he decided he was done for the day. This could be worked out tomorrow. A step later and his face smacked onto the cold metal. _Right on cue_ , he thought. Not a week has gone by and Donald's more than ready to tear this stupid shackle to pieces. But of course, that'll replace his bed with a prison cell, so there was that. He shuffled his way from the vault to the entrance hall, the ball scraping behind him. Uncle Scrooge was filing paperwork in his office, Mrs. B was brewing tea in the kitchen, and then he spotted Webby peeking at some kind of box. Upon closer look, it was a cage hung on a hook with a little bird inside.

"Hey Webby, what's with the bird?"

"Royal Guard said it's the new 'state of the art' security system. They wanted to test it out, so it was brought over." she replied, forcing herself not to stare at the chain. "Y'know, in case you think about escaping and stuff."

Donald held in his laughter. The lengths these people go through. _"_ You mean to tell me if I were to open the door," he demonstrated like so. "And walk right out, this tiny thing is gonna try and stop-"

 _BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP_

The bird went nuts, fluttering at a rapid speed and shaking the cage. Donald flinched. For something so small, its blaring chirps echoed across the hill. It refused to stop until he hurried inside, almost tripping. "See?" an awed Webby pointed out.

Donald uttered wearily "You know what? I'm gonna pretend that never happened." This was becoming too much and, frankly, he looked forward to a nap. He dismissed himself to a set of stairs, which he gazed in dismay. Had it ever occurred to them that his room would be _upstairs_ before they attached this heavy ball to him? Or maybe they have and went with it anyway. "Ugh..." No matter, he held his breath, bent over and grabbed onto the shackle, dragging it one step at a time.

Step back, tug. Step back, tug. Step back, tug.

A tedious method that halfway through got his palms sweaty. On the bright side though, Scrooge can't blame him for being late whenever he calls him. Not unless he wants a nice Don-shaped hole on the floor. No, he'll call Gladstone instead and actually make him do something productive. That'd be better.

"How's it going, Cuz?"

Speak of the devil.

"Nearly drowned. How about you?" remarked Donald. He had about reached the top when Gladstone appeared from behind. Although he wanted to ignore him, he glanced up and noticed his cousin fixing himself up as he turned to a mirror coincidentally right there. "Wait, where are you going?"

"Out." Gladstone boasted, adjusting his cravat. "Can't stay cooped up here for long, so I thought 'Hm, I should go take a walk'. Heard it'll be a pleasant evening tonight. A beautiful bouquet will doubtlessly come my way. Do you wanna come? —Oh whoops, _my bad_." He chuckled and patted Donald on the back.

Donald scowled, dropping the chain. "Does Uncle Scrooge know about this?"

Gladstone snapped his fingers at his reflection, seemingly unaware of Donald's apparent grudge. "Hey, great idea! You can let him know. Though I'm sure he wouldn't mind. Strolling isn't, well, a crime or anything." He then made his way down. "Well, I should get going. Later, Donaldo. Don't forgot to watch your step!"

At this point Donald's mind has been so clouded, he didn't really get what Gladstone meant by that. That was until he realized too late that the iron ball had just rolled off the stairs.


End file.
